The Flame
by ZapWBolt
Summary: I can't fight this anymore. Not alone.


Something has changed inside of me. Something is stirring, waking from its hibernation. It has always been there, yes, but now it is finally waking up. It's like a flame. One that you cannot quench no matter how hard you try. It has always burned, but now it wants more. It is no longer content with being a tiny, insignificant candle flame. It wants to grow, grow into a raging fire that will scorch my soul and burn my bones. I've tried over and over again to smother it out, but it resists. I try to blow it out, but the fire is only fed more.

It's caused a deep unrest within me. I am no longer sure of my decisions. Every time I slip further into the shadows, it lights up a path and leads me out. I cannot let it win. This is what I was born to do; this is my destiny. I've attempted through many methods to rid myself of my ties to the light, but the flame will not just let me alone. It pesters me, day after day, night after night, to submit to it. I like to think that I am as determined as it is, but now I'm beginning to doubt even that. Sometimes I think it'd be easier to listen to it. Every moment of my life is a struggle, a fight against this fire. Even at night, I cannot rest. The faces of all those I have destroyed, all those I have betrayed haunt my dreams. _It is not too late to mend what you've done,_ the flame whispers to me. _It is not too late._

Each day my retaliations grow weaker. Each day, my will to fight the fire diminishes. I'm not sure how long I can keep this up. I used to hate it, hate myself for nearly listening to it, but now I've even lost the will to care about those things.

Yet, there's something preventing me from submitting to the fire. I'm not sure what it is. The flame tells me that if I let go, I will be happy, but I can't tell the truth from the lies anymore. Maybe I never really could. I've realized there are so many things that I believed I held control over, but I never actually did. It was all an illusion. Power is an illusion. I've realized I am much weaker than I ever thought I was. There are only a fraction of things that I truly hold power over.

 _You have the power to change,_ the fire says. _You have control over your own actions. That is the only true power you have or will ever have._

I'm beginning to hate myself even more. I thought I was strong, but I am just as weak as everyone else. As my father. As my uncle. As _her._

The fire is relentless. My determination is wearing down. I am lost. For the first time in my life, I've come to accept the fact that I need _help._ I don't know how to ask. I've never known how to ask. The darkness has been inside of me even before I came into this world. But the flame has been there even longer. Even before I existed, it was preparing for the fight to come. There's a battle inside of me as I search for something, _anything_ that will end this. I need to make up my mind. But I can't.

Inside, I'm crying for help. A silent scream. On the outside, I am frozen. My face is scarred, but that is nothing compared to tears in my heart. I am a shell of what could have been, what _I_ could have been. I am broken. Shattered, into a million pieces. I can't put myself back together. Not alone. Yet, I refuse to get help. My entire life has been spent alone, and change isn't easy.

There's something else I realized. Out of all of my conflicts, this is the one I hate the most. I despise it. I _loathe_ it.

I'm afraid.

I'm afraid to change. Hate is what I know best. If I can't control something, I lash out. I attack whatever or whoever is in my path. Causing suffering dulls my own. But lately, it hasn't been working. I can kill, I can destroy, but it only seems to push me further. I have blood on my hands. The blood of my own father. When I killed him, I thought I'd finally be able to put out the flame. It worked for a short while, but then the fire came back only stronger than before.

I can't keep this up.

Should I fight it?

Should I submit?

Why do I have to decide? Can't someone tell me what to do? All my life I've given the orders, but now please… Please let me take some. Snoke is dead. I killed him. He was the only one who I ever followed. Now I have no one to listen to.

I hate this.

I hate myself.

I can't do this.

I can't.

Someone… please…

Save me from this.

I can't do this alone.

Not anymore.

* * *

 **Holy frickety frack I'm so proud of this**

 **That angst mmm**

 **This is actually a contest entry for a Star Wars group on deviantArt and I loved it so much that I decided to post it here**

 **By the way by dA is ZapWBolt too so you should go watch me if you have an account, ya know? :')**

 **But any way, hope you liked this!**


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